Sweet Caroline
by RemusAndMe
Summary: In Venice, while breaking into Scorpia, Alex and Tom talk, then Tom does something he's not proud of!


"You're kidding me right? I mean your not seriously making me do this are you?" A short boy of about fourteen, with fair hair and an incredulous look on his face, said to his grim counterpart.

"Tom it's the only way I'll be able to get in!" He replied.

"Ya Alex, I get that but do I have to do this? Maybe, you could like throw a smoke bomb in there and then run in or something!"

To a normal person, that would have been ridiculous, a smoke bomb, come on, but to theses two, it could happen. You see Alex was a teenage spy, he work for MI6 a British Intelligence system that worked against terrorists from out of the country. Alex had been on four missions already and had the drill down to a science. He carried smoke bombs like some people carry gum. The only people who knew what he did were Jack, his housekeeper-gone caretaker, and his best friend Tom. Right then Alex and Tom were in Venice, supposedly to visit Tom's older brother, when in fact they were looking for an organization called Scorpia.

"Sure Tom, brilliant, only if I did that, they would know someone was trying to break in. Which wouldn't be good for anyone." Came the sarcastic reply to Tom feeble attempt to get out of what was to come.

"Aww, but I don't want to do this!" Tom whined back.

"Take it like a man, just go do it."

"I'd like to see you do it Mr. I'm-so-cool-I'm-a-spy." Tom muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing."

Alex sighed at his friend, rolled his eyes and turned away. They were planning to break in to the house where supposedly Scorpia resided. All Alex needed was a distraction to get in, and that's where Tom came in.

"Okay, when I say 'Go!' you…" Alex rehearsed to his friend.

"Go!" Tom chimed in to his friend.

"Right, good, now if I'm not out in twenty five minuets…"

"I run in as back-up!"

"No, you go back to Jerry's place and stay there."

" What! Fine."

"Okay, get ready…GO!" Alex whispered, silently praying that Tom didn't end up being tossed in the canal. Tom sprinted to the front of the building holding the party. He then seemed as if he was bracing himself for some unseen force. Then he lifted his head and started to sing.

"Where it began  
I can't begin to knowin'  
But then I know it's growing strong  
Was in the spring  
And spring became the summer  
Who'd have believed you'd come along

Hands, touchin' hands  
Reachin' out  
Touchin' me  
Touchin' you

Sweet Caroline  
Good times never seemed so good  
I've been inclined  
To believe they never would

But now I  
Look at the night  
And it don't seem so lonely  
We fill it up with only two  
And when I hurt  
Hurtin' runs off my shoulders  
How can I hurt when I'm with you

Warm, touchin' warm  
Reachin' out  
Touchin' me  
Touchin' you

Sweet Caroline  
Good times never seemed so good  
I've been inclined  
To believe they never would  
Oh, no, no

Sweet Caroline  
Good times never seemed so good  
I've been inclined  
To believe they never would  
Sweet Caroline"

It was silent for several minuets, and the guests at the party gazed at the weird English boy. Alex took that time to sneak past the bouncers and run into the party, leaving Tom to the shocked guests. Though as Alex snuck by, he heard a woman tell a man in Italian how strange the English got when they were drunk.

Tom stood on the docks for exactly five seconds after Alex ran into the building, but when he saw the ugly bouncer stalking toward him he took off without a second thought.

Crouched by their first hiding spot, he waited. Slowly it went from five minuets to ten, and no Alex. Fifteen to twenty, no show, and Tom was getting nervous. Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. Overtime, no Alex. Thousands of thoughts were racing through, he could have been captured, or he was dead. Tom knew what he had to do. He had to go home, so off he went, but not after cursing Neil Diamond for creating a song that could get stuck in your head so easily!


End file.
